


The Trick

by Saladscream



Series: The Ice King [6]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Barebacking, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, POV First Person, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saladscream/pseuds/Saladscream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack accommodates the Ice King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trick

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand thanks to Pepe for... well, pretty much everything! Including the lightning fast beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine!

I knock on the door.

This is getting old.

Same goddamn hotel, same goddamn suite.

Talk about a creature of habit. 

I’m going to need to have a little chat with him about it, though. I’m getting looks from the people at the front desk. In this sort of establishment they’re discreet and well trained, but that’s beside the point. My point is, this pattern of appointments – always at the same time, always in the same suite – will soon become a liability if he’s not more careful. I don’t give a flying fruitcake what they think of me, but I’m guessing his life could get a whole helluvalot more complicated if someone bothers to put two and two together. 

I knock again. He’s taking ages to answer the door and it puts me on edge.

There are about a dozen reasons why I don’t want to be here tonight and I really don’t need to add another one to the list.

When the door finally opens, he’s on the phone speaking animatedly. In Portuguese.

He signals me to come in, barely sparing me a glance. I can so feel the love.

I show myself in, head to the lounge area, take my jacket off, plunk my ass on the couch – and wait. My, this promises to be an interesting evening.

I notice the tweed jacket is back with a vengeance – wonder where the summer boy and his casual wear went to?

He goes on as though I’m not here. Pacing absently; completely engrossed in his conversation. I have not the slightest idea what he’s talking about. I get by in Spanish, but Portuguese is something else. Sentence structure is similar, some words are close, but the rest is unrecognizable – especially when spoken in such a rapid unstoppable flow. 

Love the sound of it, though. It’s incredibly sensual. The way the tongue has to slide and roll over the soft, wet, hissing consonants. Deliciously aphrodisiac.

Like I needed that.

There’s a glass of bourbon on the coffee table – I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be his. I take it and drain it remorselessly. He’s so utterly focused on his discussion that he’s probably forgotten about me anyway. I briefly consider sending him a text message, just a reminder that the meter’s running. 

In the heat of the phone call, he comes to prop his ass against the back of the couch – I tip my head back and observe his profile. 

He’s in another world. Vibrant with a passionate energy I’ve never seen before. Desperately trying to convince someone to do something – or not do something. I catch a few words; there are weather issues, and technical issues, and someone named Raul is being unreasonable. To be honest, I’m not really interested in the content of this exchange, only in the effect it has on him.

He’s so very focused. Wonder what it would take to catch his attention.

Which gives me an idea.

I get up and slowly round the couch until I’m in his space. He doesn’t react, his eyes still planted unseeingly on the carpet. 

As casually as if I’d done it a thousand times before, I gently insinuate myself between his outstretched legs, and again, he’s so occupied he just accommodates me unthinkingly. I place my hands on his hips – his eyes briefly flick up to mine, but the conversation rolls and he rolls with it.

Step two of my evil plan. I lean in, avoiding his hand as it chops through thin air in an attempt at making things clear for his interlocutor. I press a light kiss to his neck then retreat to check his reaction. Again his pale blue eyes find mine; they stay on me a little longer, almost searchingly. I’m beginning to wonder if he remembers who I am. But the guy on the other end of the line says something outrageous and Daniel just lets out a torrent of incensed words – I seem to have faded out of existence again. I latch onto the sweet skin of his neck once more, more greedily this time, more selfishly too. His breath hitches in his throat, and his free arm comes to settle on my shoulders. This is too easy.

Time to play dirty and upgrade to step three of the evil plan. Once I’ve thoroughly kissed and suckled his throat and neck, eliciting nothing more than a few sharp intakes of air in the middle of his conversation, I sink to my knees. 

Ah, now that gets me an uncomprehending frown.

Bear with me, your highness; you will soon understand where I’m going with this.

I undo the top button of his pants and start to pull down the zipper – his hand comes to cover his groin distractedly. The guy on the phone is being pig-headed and it serves my purpose wonderfully. I brush the hand away and get to work on those pants in earnest. Good thing he’s gone commando as usual. 

I pull the fabric down his thighs and his cock rolls out lazily, half hard – absolutely perfect.

I look up and see I’ve suddenly got all his attention. His gaze is intent and expectant with just a hint of disbelief thrown in. He’s not talking anymore, but the other guy is still rambling on. I smile wolfishly at him and lean forward. His hand attempts to keep me away, pressing clumsy fingertips to my forehead. I’m afraid that won’t be enough to stop me. 

Besides, his cock twitches and swells invitingly. Looks like some parts of him actually agree with the evil plan. I curl my fingers around his shaft and suck the head into my mouth – his eyes scrunch shut and he quickly smothers a gasp with the back of his hand. 

The guy asks him a question and he valiantly replies – except his voice is a little husky now, the smooth, silky words flowing a little slower. He’s still trying to hold his side of the exchange, the little shit – while I’m busy sucking his brains out of his cock.

His eyes open, ice blue and a little blurred. He watches with fascination his wet cock disappearing rhythmically between my lips. 

And he pursues the conversation, damn him. The sentences are breathy and somewhat halting, but he goes on. Challenge mixes with lust in his eyes now. Oh, I see – the game is _on_.

And so we engage in our little battle of wills: he does his best to keep the discussion going and tries to ignore the fact that I’m giving him the mother of all blowjobs. 

He’s good, I’ll give him that. It takes me using every trick I know to wrench a few needy sounds that barely disrupt the flow of that all-important conversation. 

His hand even comes to pet and caress my hair – almost daring me to do my worst and see how he triumphs. The little son of a bitch. Okay, this is a declaration of war.

I let the wet head slip torturously out of my mouth, eliciting a discreet hiss, then lift his rigid cock out of the way and attack his balls with slippery lips and expert tongue – he breaks off in the middle of a sentence with a choked yelp. His fingers dig into my scalp and his head tilts back. 

The smartphone, now held in a slack hand, slides down his neck. I can hear the guy, “Daniel? Daniel, estás aqui?” 

No, sir, I’m afraid Daniel has left the building.

He quickly regroups, though. He resumes the exchange, more breathless than ever, the foreign words soft and slurred – he sounds even hotter than before.

I tighten my grip on his cock and jerk him off strong and slow. Then my hand replaces my tongue around his balls, and I suck the damp, cool head back into the heat of my mouth. He gasps helplessly.

The guy is getting a little worried, “Daniel, estás bem?”

“Eu machuquei meu dedo do pé,” my client answers, short of breath. Which could mean ‘I’m getting my IQ sucked out of my dick’, for all I know. 

His fingers thread with increasing urgency through my hair. I’m going in for the kill and work his shaft with loving dedication – he’s just seconds from a crash and burn of epic proportions, and if he’s not careful, he’s going to do it with an audience.

But he knows he’s losing this battle: his thighs are quivering with tension, his stomach muscles are clenched tight and his fingers are twisting desperately in my hair. He folds.

“Desculpe-me, Miguel. Vou te ligar mais tarde,” he finishes on a strangled pant. ‘Sorry, gotta blow my load’? Because no sooner does he disconnect and let the smartphone fall on the couch than his body stiffens, his hips thrusting his eager cock into me. He comes with a yell of pure, lustful relief that fills the room the way his come fills my mouth – abruptly and with savage pleasure.

“Sonuvabitch,” he wheezes, one of his hands cupping the back of my head as I lick him clean. 

When I’m done I get to my feet and gaze into his steel blue eyes. They’re filled with a warmth and a soupcon of humor that make my heart skip a beat.

“I win,” I can’t help but smirk.

He snorts – a relaxed and indulgent sound. He looks intently at my lips, then raises a thumb to brush over them. It lingers at the corner of my mouth – wiping a drop of come, I realize. Lust flares brilliantly in his eyes for a second.

“Remind me to let you win more often,” he comments.

I lean in and kiss him. A long, slow, closed-mouth kiss that he welcomes with a soft moan. I don’t push for more; I know he doesn’t like it. But he surprises me with a tentative lick of his tongue between my lips, to which I respond. His arms wrap around my waist and we kiss. It’s a shallow kiss – definitely no tonsillectomy – but it’s all the sweeter.

“That call was important,” he finally explains when the kiss ends on an achingly soft brush of lips. 

“Apparently.” My voice sounds a little too husky.

“He’ll wonder what was going on.”

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to venture a guess.” 

I mean, seriously. The pants and gasps?

“He’ll never guess,” he smiles, looking incredibly young. “Never in a million years.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s me.”

“And? But? So? Therefore?”

He’s about to answer, but I see him hesitate. His expression gets enigmatic. “Never mind,” he says with a hint of forced playfulness in his tone.

He was about to reveal something about his life but he caught himself just in time. I wish he trusted me enough to share these things. I have the niggling feeling that there aren’t many people in his life who know the side of him that I get to see. 

He slowly disentangles himself from our embrace and pushes away from the back of the couch. He tucks himself in matter-of-factly and turns to me. His features have regained some of their usual standoffishness. 

“Have you given some thought to my request?” he asks, rather business-like.

“I have.” Perused his blood test results: he’s clean. Until the very last moment I was hoping for something to show up. Nothing serious. Just something that’d give me a reason to refuse.

“And? But? So? Therefore?” he mimics, though not unkindly.

“And I suppose there’s no health issue to prevent it from happening.” I sent him my latest blood test. So now we both know we’re clean, fit and ready to go.

“Is this your way of saying yes?” he questions with a sarcastic raise of the eyebrows.

“Maybe.”

A satisfied half-smile bows his lips. 

“I was hoping for a warmer endorsement on your part,” he tells me, “but I’ll take what I can get.” And with that he heads for the bathroom.

He’ll take what he can get?

Of course. As long as his highness gets what he wants.

And he wants to be fucked bareback. I don’t know why or how he got the idea. Aren’t there enough STDs out there to convince him that latex is his friend? Bareback is for couples. Dedicated couples. Not for players. And certainly not for players who go with prostitutes.

And while I wouldn’t say he’s a player, he’s definitely going with a prostitute. 

Me.

On average, I fuck 6 to 12 different clients per month: some of them are regulars, others are one-offs. Some are females, most are males. I give head, I fuck, I jerk them off – it’s what I do. I keep myself clean, but he wouldn’t ask me to do this to him if he knew only half of what I do with the others.

Mind you, fucking is not all that I do. Some of them are just lonely, looking for some sort of companionship. Sometimes, they simply want to talk or touch. Some of them want to explore their sexuality with a non-judgmental professional – try the kinky stuff with someone who’s seen it all and doesn’t know them from Adam. 

I’ve been thinking about it and I reckon that’s what he’s trying to do. He’s exploring, experimenting, pushing the boundaries of his sexuality.

I’m usually fine with that, but here he’s making me push my boundaries, as well. And while that’s a perfectly acceptable hobby for a rich boy with too much time on his hands, it’s a whole other kettle of fish for a guy my age. 

Because I don’t need this. I’m comfortable with who I am and what I do – I don’t need to fumble around out of my comfort zone like a teenager.

So why am I even considering doing this? A mere client request is not a good enough reason. I need a better reason. Something to warrant my doing one of the stupidest things an escort could ever do.

Before I realize it, I’m opening the bathroom door. 

The shower is on. The glass of the cubicle is transparent but a little fogged up and splattered with droplets – I can clearly see his profile but the rest of his body is more indistinct. He’s standing, eyes closed, underneath one of those tropical rain showerheads, one hand braced against the tiled wall, the other idly washing his cock and balls – he hasn’t started preparing himself yet.

“Daniel,” I call him, announcing my presence before I startle him. 

He jumps nonetheless, his hand freezing guiltily over his genitals.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, raising his voice over the sound of water. There’s a trace of regal annoyance in his tone. I can understand: this is a private moment I’m interrupting.

“I have a question for you.”

He shuts off the water and turns his head to me. I see hundreds of crystal drops hesitating – should they cling to his sweet skin or slide down his beautiful body? 

I can relate to their dilemma.

“Why do you want this?” I ask him.

“The shower?” he hooks an eyebrow, being deliberately obtuse just because he can.

“The bareback fuck,” I snipe. I see him pause and frown briefly.

“I want to know what it’s like.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s supposed to be a little different. A little more intense,” he explains patiently, his pale blue eyes turning wary and guarded. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” I agree. “To the point of being a little more uncomfortable.” Which, I have it on good authority, is not always strictly true but he obviously can’t know that.

“I still want to try it. And I want to try it with you.” That much is clear to him: his features are pinched with stubbornness. 

“I’m an escort, Daniel,” I remind him, in case he’s forgotten. “A prostitute. I’ve probably fucked more people in the past three months than you ever have in your whole damn life.”

A spark of anger flares in his steely eyes. 

“I know that,” he bites off. “I’d still rather try it with someone who knows what he’s doing and has a reputation to uphold.” The subtly barbed words prove that I’ve hit my target right between the eyes. “If you have a problem with it, just say so and don’t make me waste my time. No one’s forcing you. If you can’t provide this particular service, just refer me to one of your colleagues who can,” he mutters acidly.

My fists clench reflexively at my sides. The mere idea that he’d go bareback with someone else now, _anyone else_ … 

He probably reads my body language loud and clear.

“If given the choice, I’d… I’d like it to be with you,” he promises quietly. I suppose it’s as close as he’ll ever come to asking a favor to another human being.

Damn him. I can _feel_ my anger, my resolve, my doubts… all dissolving under his cautious blue gaze. It’s the scariest and most exhilarating feeling of all – this power he holds over me. 

I fucking hate it.

But Hell will freeze over before I let anyone other than me be his first bareback ride.

“Okay. We’re doing it,” I nod, pangs of frustration, fear and excitement rippling through my whole frame. “But we’re doing it _my_ way.”

I’m taking control of this, dammit. I take off my t-shirt in one swift move and I head towards him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, clearly ticked off by my brand of initiative.

“Turn around,” I instruct as I kick my shoes off.

“No, I’m not ready.”

“Turn around or you’re gonna get an eyeful,” I warn as my hands go to my jeans.

He averts his eyes, then he quickly turns his head altogether when he realizes his peripheral vision is still giving him TMI.

“Jack, I’m not ready. Your place is in the bedroom,” he snarls to the tiled wall.

My _place_?

“Not this time, your highness,” I grate out as I yank my jeans off.

“What?” He simply can’t believe his ears: I’m disobeying an order _and_ calling him names. 

“If you can take my bare cock up your ass, you can sure take my bare fingers,” I announce gruffly as I throw my socks in a corner.

“Jack, don’t you dare!” he spits venomously as I open the shower door and step inside. “Get out!” He’s thrumming with anger but he’s also cornered because he can’t turn around and face me –what with my full frontal nudity being so hideous and threatening. And if he can’t face me he can’t kick me out.

“Hey, calm down, you’re the one who wants to do this,” I point out a little forcefully while he snaps insults at me. “Where’s the lube?” I look around in the spacious cubicle and in doing so absently kick something down on the shower floor. I bend to retrieve it. “Holy…”

Shit.

It’s not lube. 

It’s… wow, a transparent dildo. 

Crystal clear, slightly curved and rigid; the design is a little too thin and stylized to be realistic – the kind of toy meant to play with yourself, not to fuck yourself with serious intent.

“Is this what you use to prepare yourself?” I croak. I’m getting impossibly hard just imagining what he does with it. Which results in my doing a convincing impression of an amorous octopus: I’m all over him, winding my arms tight around his waist and his chest, the dildo still clutched in my hand. “Let me use it,” I growl into his shoulder.

“What?!” he squawks in shock. “No, it’s for m…”

“On _you_ , Daniel. I want to use it on you,” I clarify, purring obscenely in his ear and pushing my straining cock up between his asscheeks. A breathy whimper escapes him and I latch onto his neck and bite, kiss and suckle shamelessly to make him yield. “Order me to do it,” I whisper hotly against his skin. I don’t care what he wants in return, he has to let me do this. I want to push that thing inside him and watch how far I can drive him out of his mind with it. His body is turning wanton and pliant under my teeth. Indecent noises are leaking out of his mouth. I’m going to win again, I just know it.

Victory is mine… so mine… 

Until a sigh shudders out of him and he all but shrugs me off abruptly.

“Maybe another day,” he rasps vindictively, now standing firm under the onslaught. His hand slams over the faucet, turning the hot water back on – full stream, the bastard.

I yelp at the abrupt dousing, and it’s enough to break the spell somehow. I release him from my slightly overbearing grip and he squares his shoulders a little as if to signal that he’s regained full control of himself. Close, so close. But if he thinks a little water will be enough to make me back down, he’s got another thing coming. 

I’m in the shower after all and that’s progress. I let out a little chuckle and rake a hand through my now soaking wet hair – tilt my head back, rinse my mouth out under the hot spray. Put the dildo aside on the little shelf for later use I hope.

I try another approach, slow and measured this time. Like one approaches dangerous wildlife. The atmosphere in the cubicle is getting steamy and thick with lust and confrontation and just a hint of alpha-male pissing contest. He turns his head to the side and watches me out of the corner of his eye. 

I take my time to crowd him. Carefully snake an arm across his chest and press myself against his back, my cock finding its natural nestling place again. He’s still giving me a rather malevolent profile so I gently bring my fingers to his chin, crane my neck and kiss him softly. Just taming the beast here. And he relinquishes his lips to me. Almost grudgingly. The kiss lingers, then my cock twitches impatiently and the kiss turns deep and somewhat filthy. His nipples are pebbling hard under my fingertips. Water’s sluicing all over us, making every inch of our skin incredibly sensitive – we both growl into the embrace.

Yeah, that’s more like it.

“Might as well make yourself useful now that you’re here,” he eventually mutters low against my mouth. He throws a plastic bottle on the floor carelessly – it splashes at my feet. “On your knees,” he commands roughly.

Damn, but he’s a tough nut to crack.

I’m denied the use of the dildo, but I finally get to do this for him – I think of small victories as I get down on my knees. The water stops and I lose no time in retrieving the bottle of lube; I squirt some on my fingers and await orders. 

“Slick me up,” he instructs, his gritty tone laced with subtle threat. “And if I feel so much as a twinge of discomfort, you’re out of here.” 

Mission impossible, much?

For some reason I’m reminded of what a medic once told me as he was bandaging a hole in my shoulder: ‘If I kick you in the nuts, your shoulder won’t hurt half as bad’. I didn’t take him up on his offer, but I guess the concept of distraction still applies.

I anchor a hand on his hip and leisurely lick a trail up his left buttock as my fingers come into position against his opening. A snuff of surprised air escapes him as I add teeth to the exploration and I start rubbing coaxing circles over his hole. 

And so it begins. Minute after long minute during which I distract him with nips and bites across his perfect ass, as I slowly make him ready for me. My fingers screw and twist wetly inside him, reaching for his happy place, as my teeth sink insolently into his buttocks. His flesh is taut and firm and masculine and I feast on it like a starving man until I feel him turn deliciously slick and open. I finish loosening him up with my thumb, widening and tugging at his hole as the rest of my hand cups an asscheek proprietarily. God, I could come just from doing this. 

“Enough,” he finally says, voice tight and breath short. “Now fuck me raw, and make it good,” he challenges – my oh-so-romantic cue to get up and do him. Right here in the shower. Up against the warm, wet tiles.

He braces himself, hands flat on the wall, his stance wide and his back arched sinfully. 

I quickly apply lube to myself – a little absent-mindedly – and almost come on the spot: I forgot I wasn’t wearing a condom. The sensation zings through me, goes straight to my balls. 

Then I take a deep steadying breath. This is it. The leap of faith. I’m jumping out of the aircraft without a parachute. 

I hold him by the hips and press into him – his body has never been so desirably tight and sensual. It all feels so blissfully crude. No matter the amount of lubricant, skin on skin offers a different level of resistance. Latex is smooth in a way skin never is, and without the artificial sheath of a condom, the friction is real, heavenly, maddening. He feels it, too – starts to moan in disbelieving pleasure. 

One of his hands loses its purchase, slips on the wet tiles and hits the faucet: a light, warm drizzle envelops us as I start thrusting into him, slow and good – the sensations achingly perfect. His gripping heat is infinite and it’s so intimate it’s like I could reach the core of him.

I never knew it could feel so amazingly intense. My eyes are screwed shut and I’m desperately trying not to mewl like a slut but God this is heaven. He’s pushing back into every thrust, his strong hips undulating indecently beneath my hands and it’s doing my head in – how much he loves this, how much he’s losing himself in it. 

We’re never going to last.

I try to take it slow, try to draw it out, but we don’t stand a chance. Only a minute of open-mouthed perfection and we fall over the edge.

It starts with him. A choked sob escapes him, “Ohgoddd…” Then the tremors shake through him: his whole body seizes, every muscle tensing in blissful agony – his fingers claw helplessly at the ceramic. 

He’s coming. His head thrown back. A keening cry of desperate exhilaration pouring out of his throat. 

It’s the end and I’m losing it too: I grip his hips harder and pound into his hot, tightening body – he feels so fucking good, he _is_ so fucking good. And tonight I’m making him mine. Absolutely mine. Driving my cock into him harder and harder, faster and faster, until he moans continuously – incredulously – at the amount of pleasure still in store for him. 

My orgasm hits me blind. The tidal wave just crashing through me unannounced and uncontrolled. 

I’m coming inside him, coming up his ass and it’s utterly amazing. He’s mine at last. 

I can’t stifle a possessive growl. I know it makes me sound like a fucking caveman – but then that’s how he makes me feel. 

Like an animal.

Like he’s my rightful prey and I’m his only predator.

I drag my spent cock out of him a little too soon and feel the telltale heat of my come rushing out of his ass – savage satisfaction clenching in my guts. 

Before he can protest, I spin him around because I’m not done with him. He’s lithe and easy in my arms and he looks _fucked_ to within an inch of his life. His eyes are nothing but ice blue rims encircling pools of lustful black. He closes them before he sees too much of me. Or before I see too much in him.

So I kiss him.

Long… passionate… unrestrained. The kind of kiss I shouldn’t give. The kind of kiss he definitely shouldn’t return.

And yet we can’t stop ourselves. We kiss and kiss and kiss greedily, desperately. A mess of eager lips, avid tongues and clinging hands – overwhelming our senses with the madness of it. Our softening cocks are snuggled together and that unique feeling of shared intimacy plays its part in our temporary insanity. I don’t know how we breathe and I don’t know how we don’t pass out. What I do know is that my heart is getting the workout of the century, and I can feel his, crashing against my ribs.

And then the storm passes. The kisses slowly lose their urgency. Breathing becomes an important thing again. The warm water cascading down on us is soothing, calming. After a while everything feels liquid and gentle around us. Our lips brush lightly and our hands caress and slide lazily over skin that we’d like to crawl into.

When I get a semblance of breath back, I ask him if he’s all right. He nods and hides his face in my neck tiredly.

God, how am I supposed to survive this? How am I supposed to move on from here?

My head is spinning with the trauma of knowing this is not for me. I should be running for my life – I know a lost battle when I see one. And Daniel Jackson, simply standing in my arms with such silent abandon, his head buried trustingly in my neck, is probably scarier than any combat situation I’ve ever encountered.

I’m just not armed for this.

He drops a shy kiss on my shoulder and leaves the shower.

I think it’s the first time he’s ever kissed me anywhere but on the lips – that peck sears a hole in my skin. 

Run, Jack, run!

“Come to bed when you’re done,” he tells me as he walks out of the bathroom, a towel hugging his hips.

Some fangless predator I am.

I lean my forehead against the wall, let the water rain on me and try not to think.

He’s lying on his side, facing away from me, when I join him in bed. I get rid of my towel and slide under the sheets. His skin feels a little cool, so I spoon up behind him, placing my hand carefully on his hip. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” he asks gently, after a minute of trying to pretend we’re both sleeping.

“Sure.” I’m glad he can’t see me wince and screw my eyes shut as I wait for the other shoe to drop.

“Do you always kiss your clients?”

Shit. 

“Not always,” I rasp, trying to remain as vague as possible. I know he’s going to push for more, though, so I do a pre-emptive strike. “Some clients don’t want to kiss; some clients _I_ don’t want to kiss.”

“I see,” he reflects. “Why do you kiss me?”

For the love of God…

“You have pretty lips,” I tell him lightly. And it’s true; that’s pretty much all I was thinking the first time I kissed him. I think I suspected he would like it but never actually admit it. He was so standoffish, so distant; it was almost a dare.

I hear him snort softly at my answer. Better let him think I make a habit of passionately kissing most of my clients. He doesn’t need to know I can’t remember ever kissing anyone quite like that. With such rage, with such raw, soul-eating need.

After a few minutes I hear his breathing slow into sleep.

I, however, can’t seem to catch a wink.

I’m fucked and I know it.

He’s become too… I dunno, too intense? Too close? Too important? I have no word for it and I don’t know how to handle this situation. It feels like he’s right under my skin sometimes. 

I must be getting old and delusional. That’s what it is – must be going senile.

He’s just a client, for crying out loud. A fucking _trick_.

He’s cute and bossy and arrogant and brittle, but when all is said and done that’s all he is – a trick.

A trick I’ve just fucked bareback.

What the hell was I thinking?

The last time I fucked someone without a condom I wasn’t even an escort. I was a drunk, divorced, ex-military looking for a cheap thrill with an old Special Ops buddy. 

A lifetime ago.

And now I’m a delusional whore snuggling up between high-count Egyptian cotton sheets with his rich-boy client. 

A rich-boy client whose ass I just filled with come.

Not with safe, clean, professional latex, but with actual, dripping, personal, intimate come.

My heart and my cock both lurch massively at the thought. God, I’m such a fucking idiot.

I sigh and bury my nose in his hair. He shifts slightly in his slumber, melting into me with a barely-there sigh of contentment that spells doom for me. 

I stay rock hard against him for what feels like an eternity. 

There’s only one honorable way out of this. I need to stay focused, professional. I’m going to fuck his tight little ass again tonight, but I’m going to do it right this time. Give him a good, hard, efficient pounding. Prove to myself that I can do it without losing what’s left of my fucking marbles, and then I’m out of here.

And right on cue he shifts again, his back arching against me, the move making my cock slide snugly between his asscheeks. My hips thrust instinctively and he purrs in response. He’s awake, the little fucker – tempting me.

“Round two?” I ask roughly, poking wetly at his opening with the head of my cock.

“Ding ding,” he agrees, leisurely getting on all fours and presenting me that damn, perfect ass.

The second time is even better. 

No running water to distract our senses and make us emotional. Only tight, thick heat and the ever-present torturous drag of skin slowly driving us out of our minds.

I have more leverage and better angle, so I take him harder. And harder still when he orders it. I’m merciless and he’s okay with that if the loud, blissed-out sobs are anything to go by. I pound his oh-so-willing ass without any form of restraint – want to make him pass out with the force of it. I need to know that I’m still in control of this, that there’s at least one aspect of this warped relationship where I dominate him.

After a series of particularly well-aimed jabs at his happy spot, he comes with a violent shudder and a hoarse shout – his body harshly wringing another breathtaking orgasm out of me in retaliation. I close my eyes as I pour my load into him. It’s addictive, this insane idea that he’s mine to fill – as much as I want, as often as I want. I could so get used to it.

Then we collapse in a sweaty, panting heap.

Still get that insane head rush when I see my come dripping out of his abused ass, but I feel much better about it now – this was good, wholesome, dirty sex. No feelings. No misgivings. 

There’s hope for me yet.

Half an hour later, after a careful clean-up, I’m up, dressed and collecting my money – he did multiply the rate by ten, the freak – before heading out.

He joins me at the door.

“Are you all right?” I ask him. I was too rough the second time, and probably out of line all things considered. He’s got to be sore.

“I’ll live,” he replies, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t flatter yourself: you’re not that big.”

Son of a bitch.

I grab the back of his head and yank him in for a punishing kiss that leaves him a little cross-eyed. Then I give him a smirk of my own and open the door.

“Jack.” His quiet and composed voice stops me dead in my track. 

I turn to him, well-hidden dread making my stomach do sickening backflips.

“Are you available in three weeks?”

“Depends. What day?”

“The twentieth. It’s a Tuesday.”

Crap. 

“Uh-huh,” I nod, my teeth gritting in spite of myself.

“Good. I’ll call you to confirm time and location.” His steel blue eyes are sharp and satisfied.

“Okay.” 

“Bye, Jack.”

“Bye, Daniel.”

All the way down the elevator ride I wonder if he’s chosen the date at random. For some disquieting reason, it seems unlikely to me. I know he can be sneaky and manipulative and I wouldn’t put this type of ambush below him. 

No idea what his intentions are, but I’m creeped out just the same.

October 20th.

Some birthday party it promises to be.

 

***End of Chapter 6***


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